


Porcelain Angel

by lostinsanity



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Cancer, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Pyromania, Violence, angel - Freeform, angel!louis, dont hate me, selfharm, you might hate me for this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 01:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinsanity/pseuds/lostinsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson was an Angel. An Angel with a mission. He was sent as a Guardian to four very broken boys who desperately needed help. Harry, lost in a depression; Liam, his life cut down to the very month; Niall, manic and loud and impulsive and unable to control himself; Zayn, brooding and deep and dreaming of mass murder. Louis had only had three rules:</p><p>1. Bring them together.</p><p>2. Fix them.</p><p>3. Don’t let them see your wings.</p><p>And he definitely wasn’t supposed to fall in love with these four broken boys, either. It just kind of happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to holly for annoying me to no end until i finished this. I love her more than I love louis (which is hard to achieve let me tell you.)

He woke up, just as he did every morning—wings cradled around him, wrapping him in warmth and comfort. The sun trickled in and laid itself down upon his face, a warm light that edged him up from the depths of sleep. He opened his eyes and smiled softly towards the wall of windows that framed his bed, where he was nestled in between the covers.

With each new day always came the sun. The sun was a constant in his world, a glowing orb of certainty that warmed up his heart and his skin and his wings. When he was torn down a bit by the actions of the day, he’d wake up to the bright and happy sun, glinting through the glass and throwing itself across his face. There was no rain in his world.

He climbed out from his bed and walked into his bathroom, his feathery wings tucked in close to his back. Once he got there he washed his face and looked up into the mirror as he slipped his glasses on, lips curling up into a soft smile.

His wings unfolded behind him, stretching out, spanning half the room at their full length. His skin was radiant and blemish-free, tanned and toned and bronzed. Pink lips covered perfectly white teeth, teeth that slightly dipped into a small point at the ends, teeth that formed a radiant smile. His caramel colored hair fell gently over his forehead, thick eyelashes framing crystal eyes, blue as the ocean, hidden behind black, boxy-framed glasses. As always, a glittery gleam emitted from his wings, coating him in a sugary warmth that kept him in an almost sleep-like bliss at all times. He ran his fingers gently through his hair once before tilting his head and stepping out of his pajama pants and pulling on a pair of jeans, preparing to go out and fulfill his day.

Louis Tomlinson was an angel. Not the kind that had died and come back in heaven—no, Louis was a true angel, born of two Original angels, ones that were created in the beginning. He lived in a state of bliss, a world in which the sun always shone and there was never any terror or horror or pain. Louis’ perfect world was all he had known. He had grown up there, aging in a quite heavenly manner, in fact. At nearly 20, he both looked and acted much younger. One could say that was both a blessing and a curse for the Angels.

Louis was different, however. He was not like the others. He was thoughtful, more complex. His wings glowed while nobody else’s did, and nobody could determine why, not even the Elders. They were enormous compared to his small body; while most angels wings rarely extended too far past their shoulders and never longer than their back, Louis’ nearly brushed his ankles and, when fully outstretched, could even touch the walls of a small room. He had never been down to Earth, mainly because he was still young, but also because his wings provided a problem that was hard to take care of. Angels couldn’t be recognized by humans as Angels; if they were, the human’s memory would have to be wiped and the Angel would be stripped of his wings. That’s simply how it worked. And for Louis, it wasn’t easy to just tuck the wings into a jacket and be on his merry way, either.

But along with the physical differences were the emotional as well. Louis was more compassionate, more selfless. He would do anything to protect someone he loved, especially his four little sisters whom he cared for so much. He would put himself in the line of danger to make sure they were alright. He was complex, his thoughts always guarded and deep, and even though he sometimes acted like a child, he had the mind of an Elder. He was immature but aggressive, matured in his own way, unable to put together the pieces of why he had to act older but doing it anyway. Most of the time he was deep in thought, his walls up, so thick that nobody could see through his facade. Louis was different.

That’s why the Elders gave him an assignment. He could handle it. It was hard, especially for a boy his age. But he was destined to do it. It was the way he was put together.  

Four boys on Earth needed his assistance. One boy was quickly slipping into the depths of depression and alcoholism following his mother’s death; one boy was awaiting his departure from the world as cancer plagued his body; one boy struggled with the inability to control his temper; one boy spent his days dreaming of how he would one day end the lives of others. Four very broken boys, unable to put themselves together without the help of each other. And to find each other, they all needed Louis.

Louis was these four boys’ assigned Guardian Angel.


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you know me, you know i am terrible at updating things :(

Louis almost felt like it should be raining. He knew it didn’t rain there, in his world, and that it never would. But, as he was lead into the building of the Elders by a man he didn’t know, ready to view the somber fates of the four boys he was set to take care of, he felt like the sky should have been gray, that it should have been pouring. He felt as if everything was grey. Not even the golden light emitting from his wings or the warm sunlight streaming in from the walls made entirely of glass, could rid him of this foreboding feeling.

When he was told about what he had to do, Louis swore he would take up the task with no protest at all. He vowed to help these poor teenagers that he didn’t even know. But that was before he found out their fates.

Not everyone went on these missions. Louis knew that. You had to be of special caliber in order to be a Guardian. No inherent angel, a mortal that was changed into an angel by whatever means, nor fledglings, young angels whose wings hadn’t fully developed yet, could become Guardians. Not even half-bloods, which were children of an original angel or a true angel and an inherent one or a half-blood, could take on the duties of a Guardian. No, you had to be pure, a descendant of the line of original angels, a full-blooded true angel. Of the twelve original angels left, two were Louis’ great grandparents.

Louis was the only true angel of his family. His mother, daughter of two true angels herself, had Louis with his father, another true angel. But Louis’ father had been killed on a Guardian mission, and the man his mother married after, the father of Louis’ four sisters, was an Inherent angel. His sisters were half-bloods.

Which meant Louis was the only one able to take on the obligations of being a Guardian.

As the fledgling led him down a hall to where the Elders were stationed, Louis’ thoughts ran through his head, speeding and rushing as he tries desperately to piece them together. It was a scary thought for Louis, having to stand before the table of Elders, having to be examined and given a job that he would have in his hands for who knew how long. It was a scary thought that he would have the files of four poor teenaged boys opened and shown to him, projected, and he would have to watch all of it, all the pain and the suffering. He was nervous, really; not at all was he prepared to see the futures of a group of unfortunate humans being shown before him.

Before he knew it, the fledgling was pushing open the center room’s doors and leading him in.

A panel stood before him, a bar of three. The acclaimed Elders. They were the leaders of all the Angels. They called the shots, made the moves and, most importantly, they were the ones to assign Guardian missions. Louis bowed his head, afraid to make eye contact with them, but the wise Simon Cowell, beautiful Nicole Sherzinger, and regal Louis Walsh beckoned the young angel nearer.

“Good morning, Louis,” the eldest one announced, wings extended at full length out and a fierce look in his eyes, voice loud and strong with royalty. Simon.

Louis gave a small nod and looked down, staring at his feet, clad in a pair of shoes that he’d been too preoccupied to tie that morning. He pulled his wings tighter around him, the feathery ends curling over his arms and wrapping him in a familiar soft warmth. “Good morning, Council,” he said quietly, lifting his head up to meet the eyes of each Elder. He was so nervous he was shaking, but he would never show anything less than the utmost respect for the uppermost of his kind.

“Are you ready?”

Simon’s voice was kind but firm, strict but loving. Simon clearly loved all of his angels, Guardians or not. Louis could almost feel a gentle, reassuring hand over his shoulder. He felt at ease almost immediately.

He nodded. “Show me,” he said affirmatively, shaking his head in a brisk nod.

Simon nodded, lifting out four files from beneath the table the three of them were seated at. He opened them up, and suddenly Louis was staggering backwards, wings wrapping tighter around him as his sight was replaced with something that was like a mini movie in his head, a screen covering his real vision and hearing with something much, much more gruesome.

A sickly boy lay on a starchy white bed, in a hospital. The room was empty aside from him and some machines, so many machines, hooked up to him, breathing for him and feeding him and keeping him alive. His hair was absent from his head, arms thin and frail, skin pale white and fragile-looking. He looked like a tiny porcelain doll, so soft and breakable, and Louis reached out, almost as if to touch him.

A doctor walked into the room, face drawn, looking just as pristine as the room did.

“Hi, Liam,” he said to the boy. He couldn’t even lift his head up to respond.

“I’m dying, aren’t I?” he whispered, voice scratchy and rough and weak. The doctor opened his mouth, and before he could speak, Liam interjected, “Don’t lie to me.”

“You are.”

The boy sighed, opening his eyes, a caramel brown surrounded by a pale white, tinged the same yellow color as his skin. “The machines are keeping me alive.”

The doctor nodded.

“Turn them off.”

With hesitation, the doctor staggered backwards, face confused. “Liam, you can’t make that decision, I’ll have to talk to your parents—“

Liam struggled to suck in a breath before mumbling, quietly, “I can. I’m nineteen, I don’t have to do what they say anymore.” He paused, closing his eyes, taking in another breath and furrowing his forehead where his eyebrows should have been. “Please. I don’t want to live like this. Turn them off.”

“There’s an operation that we can try that may be able to save your life, Liam—“

“No. Turn them off. I don’t want any operations. If you turn them off I’ll just struggle to breathe until my heart is too weak to beat anymore.” He squeezed his eyes closed, sucking in a shaky breath, pausing to cough and grimacing in pain right afterwards. “Please.” Quietly, barely loud enough to be heard, he added, “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

He crossed his hands, tangling his fingers together, and Louis could hear his thoughts, some of his last ones before the pain overwhelmed him.

_I’m going to die alone._

The doctor nodded solemnly, and suddenly Louis’ vision was taken from the hospital to a small, cozy-looking family home. He could hear a faint sound from within, and he was taken forward, through the door, where the sound grew louder. It sounded like a soft cry, a sob. There was a small woman, with blonde hair, curled up in a bed in the large bedroom. An older man was resting at the foot of the bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, taking deep, albeit shaky, breaths to keep from bursting into tears.

Liam’s parents.

“He died  _alone,_  Geoff,” his mother cried, sobbing so hard it was barely coherent. “Nobody was there. He didn’t even tell us! We haven’t spoken to him in so long! I can’t believe I lost my baby without even saying goodbye…”

His father didn’t respond. He was too caught up in his own worries, his own fears, his own grief. His own  _regret._ He knew that his son had been diagnosed with a terminal cancer. He knew that nothing could save him. He knew that he had only had a couple months left. Until Liam took off, distanced himself from his entire family, and nobody knew where he was anymore. He slipped away from everyone. He had no friends. He disconnected his cell phone. He never even left the hospital room.

Liam wanted to die alone. And that’s what he did.

Louis was sucked out of this vision to the next one, a foggy night in a small town. A wave of heat rushed over his body and he turned, only to see a house engulfed in flames. A boy, who couldn’t have been much bigger than Louis himself, was running around frantically outside of the house, screaming and crying, accompanied by a group of people standing outside staring at the house as if their glares would dampen the fire. A sound of a distant siren could be heard.

“My family’s in there,” he shrieked in a thick accent, nearly as if he were in agony, as if the fire were touching him too. He was shirtless, and Louis could notice burns lining his fair arms and chest. Old burns, scarred over in rough skin that barely resembled skin at all. Fairly new ones, too, and one that was blistering as if it were done only a few minutes before, cast along his chest. “Please, get them out, I didn’t mean it, you have to save them, please!”

Louis reached out to comfort the boy, but couldn’t touch him. Instead, the poor blonde dropped to his knees, hair falling over his eyes as he collapsed in on himself, clutching his midsection, sobbing and sputtering, struggling to breathe. For Louis, it was like having the life ripped out of him and tossed in the fire before him. This boy’s  _pain_ was enough to make Louis hurt. The boy clawed at his chest, adding to the burn that was beginning to ooze, that looked far too bad for just some cold water and ointment. He began to choke on his sobs, coughing and crying. Louis didn’t think a person  _could_  cry this hard, but here it was, happening before him, and Louis could do nothing about it.

The boy screamed, the sound ripping a hole in Louis’ heart. “Please get them out!” He sounded as if he were in pain himself, physical pain. He probably was. A fire truck pulled up behind Louis and the firefighters began to unload themselves from the truck as the boy sobbed on the grass, trying to breathe. He began to cough harder and doubled over, retching onto the grass, struggling to get air into his tightened lungs.

“Son, who’s in there?” A firefighter approached the boy, eyes widening on the extensive burns on his body, as the rest of his team rushed towards the house and extended the ladder, spraying it with high-power hoses. Louis could feel the spray on his face, even through the heat of the flame.

“My family,” he roared, nails digging into his palms. “It’s all my fault, I just wanted to play with my lighter, and I accidentally dropped it onto the curtain and I couldn’t get them out, only me, it’s all my fault and there’s nothing I can do to help, please save them, pl—”

He was cut off by a nearly deafening cracking sound. Louis, along with the firefighter and the boy, turned to look at the house, where, in nearly slow motion, the roof began to sink into the house. It went, bit by bit, until the roof was barely there anymore, just a collection of burning beams and wood, and the walls began to collapse on the house as well, breaking down into nothing. The boy shrieked, blood-curdling and loud and heart-breaking, and flung himself down onto the ground again, nails digging into his skin and kicking at the hard dirt and screaming, screaming so loud it felt as if the sheer sound of it was shattering Louis’ heart to pieces.

As the scene changed, Louis realized he had tears glistening their way down his face. He frantically wiped at his cheeks, too proud to be caught crying. He couldn’t cry. Especially not in front of the Elders. He was strong enough to do this. He  _wouldn’t_  allow himself to cry.

But he cried anyway, biting at his lower lip and begging himself to stop, and found himself instead with dampened sleeves and a broken heart.

He was brought to a hospital again, immaculate halls and echoing footsteps. It was so silent that Louis could hear the breathing of the secretary sat at the desk in the hall. He walked slowly, his wings stirring the stagnant, still air, looking into each of the rooms as he passed. This wasn’t a normal hospital. This hospital had thick white doors, a tiny window cut into each of them. They locked from the outside. The patients had blank looks on their faces, asleep. None were hooked up to IV lines or oxygen or machines or monitors. The rooms were bare, minimal, tiny.

This wasn’t a normal hospital. This was a psychological hospital.

Louis continued to walk, although his footsteps didn’t make a sound as he moved down the hallway, running his fingertips against the textured walls. He came across a room with the door swung wide open, soft voices emanating from inside. He turned in to see a boy, blankets tugged up to his neck, inky black hair splayed out over the plain white pillow. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, arms and legs held straight and eyes nearly unblinking. His gaze was blank, eyes bare, emotionless. Empty. Sitting in the plastic chairs beside his bed were two people, a girl with white-blonde hair and a boy with tan skin and dark hair. They were whispering to each other, voices hushed, barely heard by anyone other than themselves.

“Zayn was my best friend,” the blonde girl whispered, laying her hand over the boy in the bed’s. He didn’t respond, didn’t even blink. “Too bad he went crazy.”

“I know.” The boy stared at her hand on his, almost as if his glare could burn it off. “He was always talking about killing people or killing himself.” He swallowed thickly, moving his eyes to stare out the small, curtained window that overlooked a courtyard. “Who would have thought he was serious?”

The boy in the bed, with the full lips and beautiful hazel eyes and jet black hair and gorgeous cheekbones, had lost his mind.

Louis found the world spinning, suddenly, swirling and twirling until it was all out of control and he couldn’t see. It was pitch black and he reached out to grab onto something, anything, but there was nothing there; only darkness and emptiness. He finally found something, something to hold onto for leverage, and it felt like a table. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to escape from the dizzying darkness, and opened them only to stare straight into Simon Cowell’s face.

“Oh my…” he began, voice shaky and loose and weak. His knees knocked together and he felt as if he was going to faint. That was the worst thing he’d ever had to endure.

“You’re not done yet,” Simon murmured as he pushed aside the third file and grabbed the last one. “One left.”

With a flip of a page, Louis was sent back into his own personal hell, this time landing hard on his ass in the middle of a dark, damp alleyway. It was quiet, the only sounds those of faint traffic and the dripping of water coming from somewhere that he couldn’t see. Steam came up from a subway grate, gliding across Louis’ legs and covering the ground in a thin, polluted fog. Louis felt a chill run up his spine, and it wasn’t from the temperature. Something was very wrong here. He could feel it.

He pulled his wings carefully around himself, shielding himself from the eerie feeling that sheathed itself over him, perturbing him to no end. He continued to walk down the alley, stepping into the occasional puddle or crossing paths with the occasional rodent. His glowing wings gave off just enough light for him to see the quivering human form lying on the ground in front of him.

He dropped to his knees, trying to shake the poor boy, or to push his chocolate curls out of his face so that he could see his eyes, but Louis’ touch wasn’t effective, and the boy couldn’t feel it, either. There was a broken bottle of some type of alcohol near him, cuts on his hand, and track marks running up his tattooed arms. Louis had to swallow around a lump in his throat. This kid needed help, and fast. Or he was going to die.

The boy groaned, rolling over onto his back. His greasy, long curls fell from his face, revealing sullen cheeks, pale skin stretched tightly over his eyelids… but his lips, those lips were the fullest and pinkest lips Louis had ever seen. He looked familiar, for some reason; he looked like, maybe, he was once a little cherub toddling around with tiny wings, trying to figure out how to work them. Louis blinked at the boy, trying to make the connection, but he couldn’t. His breathing was sullen and ragged, the gashes cut deep into his hand, oozing with blood and embedded with glass and slick with spilled out alcohol.

Louis leaned closer.

Was he lying in a pool of his own blood?

He felt his breath catch in his throat as he realized he was, and struggled to find a wound, anything, something. A cut through the boys’ too-tight jeans was the first thing he found; a jagged cut on his head, leaving his hair matted with blood; newly forming bruises decorating his tracked arms and his beautiful face and even the slip of skin that showed just below his t-shirt and just above the waist of his jeans. Louis looked around frantically, soon finding the remains of a smashed beer bottle, the end shiny with blood.

This poor kid had been beaten nearly to death. And Louis could do nothing about it.

He felt a wave of something flow over him that nearly knocked him on his ass. He felt dizzy, nauseous, _sad._ This boy, this boy who seemed like an old friend to Louis, was lying here, bleeding his life’s blood out onto the cold asphalt of an alley in some city, beaten with fist and foot and weapon until there was nothing left of him, struggling to breathe, struggling to  _stay alive._ And there was nothing Louis could do about it.

“But there is something you can do about it.”

Louis snapped his eyes open, and suddenly, he was no longer in the dark, wet, foggy alley, crouching in front of the boy he felt so much for. He was standing in the center room of the capital, face to face with the Elders, breathing deeply, having broken out in a cold sweat, with tears tracking salty lines down his cheeks.

“Did I say that out loud?” he asked, and Nicole nodded, continuing her response, pushing the four files towards Louis with a pleading look in her eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” she questioned, carefully looking into Louis’ eyes as if scanning his confidence, his sincerity. “Once you grab hold of these files, there’s no going back. They’re yours. And you know the rules. First, bring them together. Second, save them. Third, donot  _ever_  let them see your wings.” Louis reached out with a shaky hand, but before he could touch the files, Nicole stopped him with a hard gaze. “Finally, and most imperatively, do not let yourself get attached. You know what happened to your father when he made that mistake.”

Louis nodded, but felt a pounding in his head and a surge in his veins that told him he was meant for this. He was  _meant_ to save these boys’ lives. He needed to do this, not only to prove himself as a true Angel, but to help four boys that he knew didn’t deserve what was coming for them.

He placed his hand on the files. They were his.

“I can do this,” he told the Elders with confidence, pulling the folders from Nicole’s hands and pressing them to his chest, curling his warm, feathery wings around his shoulders and protecting the precious papers cradled to him. “I will save these boys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully i can get something posted every two weeks, no promises though. if you're still reading this, i love you.


	3. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update! i was on vacation !!!! i hope you guys all like it :) love you all

The air was chilly as Louis took his duffel and stood on the train platform. He’d never really _been_ here before, not to the platform that leads to Earth. He sort of felt lost, as if he was searching for platform nine and three-quarters, like he was looking for something that’s not really there. He was the only person standing by the track, and his jacket wasn’t doing a fabulous job of keeping him too warm, either. The wind was biting and his nerves weren’t helping much.

He adjusted his glasses on his face and softly swept his fringe out of his eyes, leaning out over the track to see if the train was coming, which it wasn’t. The four files tucked under his arm, secured closed with a large clip, seemed to weigh much more than they actually did. It felt as if they were made of lead, weighing him down and feeling like they were going to crush him beneath their weight. He was scared and he knew it. He had been taught how to make sure his wings stayed transparent during the day, and even how to hide them at night (which took unexplainable amounts of concentration and focus and was nearly impossible if you weren’t trying), and hell, he was a people person, so it couldn’t be that hard. But he was so _scared,_ so nervous, knowing that the lives of not one boy, not two, but _four_ young boys would rest on his shoulders and lie in his hands. He pulled his wings around him, relishing in the warm feel of them in public for the last time in while. Once on Earth, the only place that he would be able to open them and cradle himself in them and be able to feel the relief and calm and warmth that they blessed upon him would be alone, at night.

He wasn’t ready.

He knew it would be tough for him, being so young and taking on one of the most stressful and complicated guardian missions that had even been assigned in recent times, but for some reasons, the Elders thought he could do it. And, well, he just didn’t have that confidence. Louis felt small, helpless, unable to even move. Everyone knew him here, in his world, where his wings were admired and he was different and special and _Louis,_ where everyone knew his name and what he did and how he lived his life and children reached out when he walked by to touch his wings to see what they felt like while theirs were barely budding from their backs. On Earth, he would be a little kid caught in a sea of judgmental, evil, unloving humans, nothing like what he was used to. It would rain and it would snow and it would sleet and all around him bad would be happening, people weeping and babies screaming and sadness everywhere, and Louis would have to close his eyes and make his wings disappear and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. He was an _angel,_ he was born that way, and all he had ever known was goodness and kindness and happiness and now he would be subjected to the evilest of evils—Earth and humans.

He heard a sound in the distance, like an engine rumbling, and sure enough, a train was soon pulling up in front of him. The doors pulled open with a noisy clack and he stepped in, looking around, finding it empty. He was the first stop, after all. It wasn’t like he was trapped in a science fiction film, either, like he would be beamed down to earth by some magical, glittery cloud of fairy dust and suddenly appear there. No, this was just a train, it made stops, just like normal trains did, and it travelled through a dark tunnel for a long time before it got off at a station, just like normal trains did. The only difference was that the station was made for each guardian on the train. Louis would get off wherever his stop was, and he wouldn’t know where that was until he got there.

He settled into a seat, tucking his bag beneath the chair, and leaned back, pulling his legs up and curling into the corner, small and soft, curling his wings around him and covering himself in the warmth he knew so well. The feathers at the top softly tickled his cheeks and he smiled, eyes cast down, long eyelashes nearly brushing the lenses of his glasses as they fluttered closed, the bottom tips of his wings wrapping over his ankles and holding closed, creating almost like a cocoon of familiarity for him to dwell in, if only for the time being. Once he broke the barrier and entered the tunnel that ultimately would lead the train to Earth, he would have to make sure his wings were transparent, and once that happened, it would be like they didn’t exist at all. Not only would they be invisible, but they would not even be able to be touched, or felt, and that meant Louis wouldn’t even be able to be put at ease by their hominess. He would be lost in the world of humans, pulled apart, and he was _scared._ He really was. He hated to admit his fears, because he felt that fears were weakness and weakness dragged you down, but he knew he was scared and that was that.

The train began to move and he leaned his head against the cold glass of the window, watching the landscape fly by in nothing but bits of white and green and brown and blue and a smear of colors, blending together to form nothing. He had nothing better to do, so he went ahead and pulled out the files that were still tucked beneath his arm, laying them out on his lap, balanced between his torso and his legs, knees pulled up as he sat way in the corner of the seat. He opened up the first one and flipped pages until he came to a clipped packet of papers, which he began to read.

“Horan, Niall. 18. Suffering from pyromania, anxiety, claustrophobia, manic disorder. Hard to control, especially when in presence of fire. Requires close monitoring, must not be left alone for long periods of time. Has history of self-harm and violence.”

Louis swallowed thickly and blinked. He could never imagine living like this, at only eighteen, a throwaway, living in the recluse of the depths of his own mind, lured out of the dark corners only by the light of a flickering, burning flame, one that not only saved him but destroyed him, burn by blistering burn. He slammed the file closed, squeezing his eyes shut, and took in a deep breath, calming his mind, feeling the glow of his wings surround him and prepare him for the next file as he slipped it to the top.

He pressed his fingers beneath it and ran the edge of the pages along the pad of his pointer finger, slicing it unintentionally. Ripping his finger out from the file, he hissed, staring at the single drop of scarlet blood that beaded up at the tip of his small, tan finger; but only for a moment, before he shoved it in his mouth. He _would_ get a paper cut the moment he left his safe haven, his world. He’d never been injured before. He’d never even seen blood in real life, only in movies and photos and shows on the TV, never experienced it. He felt like this was an omen, a foreboding evil that shadowed down on his experience on Earth as a whole. He swallowed back his fear and his suspicion along with the metallic tang of his blood, pulled his finger from his mouth, and slowly opened the file, nervous.

“Payne, Liam. 18. Diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor, doctor’s estimate 7 months. Experiencing a depression and has isolated himself from family/friends. Has trouble letting people in. Extremely antisocial. Has tendency to act as if you are not present when you try to speak to him.”

Louis sighed. A young boy with a terminal illness. It was sad enough, but the fact that he wasn’t speaking to his friends and family, the people who loved him so much, was something that struck Louis deep. Liam was not only suffering himself. He was making everyone else suffer with him.

He closed the file and moved on to the next one, biting his lip and bracing his mind for what was inside. After all, he had already seen their futures, what could be worse than that?

“Malik, Zayn. 19. Antisocial personality disorder. Is extremely violent and antisocial, may come off as inconsiderate and rude; however, those are effects of the disorder. Suicidal at times. Stubborn. Must be closely monitored and/or controlled as he has little to no perception of right/wrong.”

For a split second, Louis was concerned for his own health, his own well-being. He had the fathomed idea that maybe Zayn would try to hurt him, especially if Louis couldn’t control him. Louis was not strong, not extraordinary, not superhuman. If anything, he was a bit small (more than a bit, actually, and his enormous wings made him look even smaller, but he didn’t like to admit that). What if Zayn went into a violent fit and took it out on everything he could, even Louis? Louis wouldn’t be able to stop him. And that scared him.

He opened the last file and ran his eyes down the page. This file had a photo, something that the others didn’t. It was a boy, young, probably about sixteen years old. He had pipe curls, tightly wound and fluffy, chocolate brown framing his face in a swoopy style. He had bright eyes, emerald green and sparkling with mischief and happiness. His smile was white and beautiful. Louis felt a bubble of recognition surge through his veins. He had seen this boy before.

“Styles, Harry, 17. Alcoholic, addicted to various hard drugs. Problems arose after loss of adoptive mother last year. Barely comes home. Is a target for trouble. Very antisocial and has a tendency to try to act tough as a safety front. Is very compassionate and kind once you gain his trust. Suffering from depression.”

Louis quickly closed the file and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about this one, didn’t want to think at all. He wanted to just get to where he had to be and do his job and forget all about everything else. And he was scared even more now, because for the first time in his life he didn’t have control over the way he felt. He was going to be attached to these boys—he already was—and it was going to get in the way.

He couldn’t let it.

He wouldn’t let it.

There was absolutely no way he was going to ruin these boys’ lives with his feelings.

~

The train came to a squealing, screeching halt, and Louis snapped awake, looking around frantically. He became increasingly nervous as he realized where he was—on a train somewhere—and that he didn’t know anyone around him. And—where the _fuck_ were his wings?

He shot upright, about to stand up and shoot into self-defense mode, but he stopped for a moment to remember where he was. Oh, yeah. Earth.

The doors to the train opened, and Louis, along with the other people on the train, stood up, gathering their bags and making their way out onto the platform. He followed everyone, not really knowing where he was going, but knowing at least that he had to get off the train before he did anything. Once on the platform, he lugged his duffel off to a bench to get out of the way of everyone walking and sat down, pulling the files out from under his arm and looking at the first one.

 _Horan, Niall._ That must be the first boy he was here for, the pyromaniac. Louis flipped through the file a bit more to find an address, a photograph of a pretty white house on a pretty white street pasted right beneath it. He knew there was a virtual map in there somewhere, that adapted itself from wherever he was and led him to whatever his destination was, but he decided that, well, Google maps would do the trick. Pulling his phone out of the pocket of his denim jacket, he punched in the address he found on the file and the system began to plot out a route, but for some reason he knew he wasn’t supposed to go there. So, he got up and walked.

He knew right away that he was in Ireland. The pretty green country was showing its landmarks all around him, and for once it was sunny there. Louis had studied Ireland back when he was in grade school. He knew the weather was terrible, but he had no idea what rain felt like. He imagined it was something like taking a shower, except just outside and with clothes on. He shrugged, shaking the idea from his head, and walked a bit further, coming to what looked like a patch of grass in the middle of a city. Louis followed the sidewalk, deep in thought, before he even realized he was in the park, and by then he was standing nearly directly behind the boy.

He was small, maybe smaller than Louis, with blonde hair, dark at the roots, styled up into a spiky style that resembled a bit of a skateboard ramp. He was definitely the boy from the vision, the one that the Elders had shown him, the boy with the burning house. This was Niall. Sitting on the bench with a pile of sticks at his feet, he held a lighter, sticking the end of a twig into the flame and watching it smolder. Louis stood behind him, as silent as possible, quietly observing as the end of one stick became red hot and glowing. The younger boy just stared at it, eyes wide with wonder as he turned the stick, making the heat spread more evenly. Louis didn’t know what hit him when Niall suddenly rolled up his sleeve, turned off the lighter, and shoved the hot, glowing end of the stick against his scarred skin.

Louis lurched forwards on instinct, knocking the lighter and the stick out of the boy’s hands. They cluttered to the concrete by his feet, and Niall’s head snapped up, his eyes full of rage. Before he could say a word, Louis looked directly into his eyes and stomped on the lighter, completely obliterating it.

“And who the fuck are you?” he growled, accent thick, the burn on his arm beginning to blister. He didn’t seem to pay any attention to it, however. He did look like he was about to rip Louis to shreds, though.

He took a deep breath, adjusting his glasses on his face and sweeping his fringe away from his eyes. “My name’s Louis,” he explained, sticking a shaky hand out to Niall. “You don’t really know me yet. But you will.”

“Alright, Louis,” Niall mumbled with a tight, sarcastic smile. “I’m going to kick your ass.”

Now he was scared. Now he was definitely scared.

He struggled to figure out what to say, because all of a sudden Niall produced another lighter from his pocket, and he was threatening to light Louis’ hair on fire or something. Louis was beginning to panic, knowing that a complete loss of control of his emotions would cause his wings to become visible, which would mean he would already fail his mission one minute into starting it. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth and said, simply, “No you’re not.”

He kept his eyes closed for a moment, and after a second, opened them again. Niall was standing there, just looking at him. He had closed the lighter and was just staring blankly at Louis, eyes wide, as if he had never seen a person before. Louis was confused; why was this boy just frozen in his tracks?

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, sticking the lighter back in his pocket, “I don’t know what got into me. I just, kind of have a thing for fire, you know?”

“Yeah,” Louis chuckled, “I know.”

They looked at each other for a few seconds before Louis asked, “How about I buy you some dinner?”

Niall shrugged, but Louis’ eyes wouldn’t refuse. “Sure,” he said quietly, nodding. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Louis grinned as the two of them walked away from the bench, Niall leading the way to some pub that he said had the best food in town. Louis felt warm, fuzzy inside, comforted and just plain _good._ It felt like the feeling his wings gave him when he wrapped them around him, that at-home feeling.

He realized what it meant. He just smiled, walking as the sun shone on the two of them.


End file.
